


もう一度 - Mou Ichido

by h_itoshi



Category: Hey! Say! JUMP
Genre: Angst, Bit of a drinking problem, Imaginations and fantasies, M/M, Ookami seinen inspired, Smoking, Unprotected Sex, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:15:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28139766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h_itoshi/pseuds/h_itoshi
Summary: He picks the cigarette from his dry lips and for a moment he wildly wonders if things would be better if he used chapstick. Then immediately shakes his head because he's so fucking stupid. Of course it wouldn't help. Yamada wouldn't kiss him anyway.
Relationships: Nakajima Yuto/Yamada Ryosuke
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10
Collections: JE Secret Santa





	もう一度 - Mou Ichido

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Je_SecretSanta](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Je_SecretSanta) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Imagine your OTP watching a horror movie and someone in the movie gets their head bit off by a monster and person a realizes in that moment that they are in love with person b
> 
> *title from ookami seinen lyrics, mou ichido = once more, again
> 
> This is not really focused on the prompt, sorry... ><

The glass slams against the cheap coffee table and Yuto thinks that he didn't mean to do that. He lets go of the empty glass and rubs his forehead instead, squeezing his eyes closed because he feels a little dizzy. That's good though. That's what he wanted.

He sighs deeply and opens his eyes again, realizing he's spilling cigarette ashes on the floor and curses under his breath, grabbing a candlestick from the table to smother the embers. He's not allowed to smoke in the apartment at all, so he's fairly certain his landlord wouldn't be happy about burn marks on the floorboards.

He never smokes inside usually. But tonight he does. He lifts the cigarette to his lips and inhales, the nicotine helping him keep himself under control.

He stares at the coffee table before him, at the mess of things and the single glass, the bottle of cheap rum because he's not going to drown his emotions with the expensive stuff. The corpses of cigarettes already smoked piled in the ashtray next to the glass. And a couple used tissues because he's just that pathetic.

Yuto sighs, hanging his head and regretting every single choice he ever made in life to get to this point. Regrets joining Johnny's, regrets fighting for the spotlight, regrets debuting. Regrets puberty even.

As every single time before refilling his glass tonight, he questions what he's doing. Knows that he should just call someone and cry like a little child and let someone take care of him. But Yuto doesn't need taking care of. Doesn't want to need it. And nobody can stand him going on and on about this anymore anyway.

He flicks the ashes from his cigarette and then puts it back between his lips as he reaches for the bottle again. The cork is a little sticky but he doesn't care, simply screws it off and refills his glass with a generous serving.

Maybe if he just lets himself decay tonight he can pick himself up again tomorrow.

He picks the cigarette from his dry lips and for a moment he wildly wonders if things would be better if he used chapstick. Then immediately shakes his head because he's so fucking stupid. Of course it wouldn't help. Yamada wouldn't kiss him anyway.

He gulps down a big mouthful of dark amber fluid, the burn down his throat not quite as prominent anymore and so he can't blame it for the glaze in his eyes.

He really is pathetic enough to sit in his couch just before midnight, drinking himself beyond consciousness and ruining his apartment with cigarettes because Yamada Ryosuke won't kiss him. A fact that he's known to be true for almost 15 years, but the blatant reminders always sends him spiralling down again until he lands in the gutter at the far bottom of his mind.

What's worse is that he brought this upon himself. He knows better than to push Yamada, but he can't help himself, because somewhere, somehow, he can't keep from hoping.

Maybe something changed. Maybe Yuto's gotten prettier or Yamada more desperate or some magic removed their past. Maybe Yamada could warm up to him.

Yuto groans and lays a hand over his eyes, trying to force the tears back into his head because he's so done crying over fucking Yamada Ryosuke.

It's always been him. Ever since they were kids and Yamada had chubby cheeks Yuto was fascinated by him. Even when they fought in their teens and didn't talk for years he couldn't stop being intrigued, couldn't stop looking as Yamada grew more beautiful with every passing day.

He vividly remembers when he realized he was head over heels for him. They were at Kamiki's house watching horror movies on Halloween, and even though they weren't even remotely friends at that time, Yamada was invited and so was Yuto.

Yamada went to get snacks because obviously he was scared but wouldn't admit it, and when he returned, his seat in the couch had been taken by a girl, so he settled on the floor.

Yuto doesn't remember the movie, but he knows that there was a jump scare where the sea monster sprung forward and bit the head clean off a girl who barely had time to scream, and Yamada jumped, flying back to grab onto Yuto's legs since he was closest.

And Yuto looked down at him, at his carefully coloured brown hair and tryhard shirt, at the hands clutching onto Yuto's knee and calf like they could save him from the monster, and Yuto knew.

There could be no other explanation for the heat in his veins and his heart picking up like no adrenaline rush from fright had all night. Which made him absolutely furious with himself, and he purposely called Yamada out for being scared, making everyone laugh at him and Yamada determinedly moved over to the other side of the couch to sit right in front of a girl in their parallel class instead. Yuto remembers her face because by the end of the night, Yamada's tongue was in her throat and Yuto hated her so fiercely he'd probably still recognize her on the street today.

It's been so many years, and nothing changed.

He sets his empty glass down on the table again, feeling a little nauseous but he can't tell if it's from the alcohol or the memories, past or present, closing his eyes to see the day's horrors repeated for his inner eye.

* * *

His heart is beating so hard he almost chokes as the counts grow closer, Daiki's and Hikaru's hands moving before him, then Inoo's, and he starts to turn a millisecond too soon, looking up just to watch him in motion.

He raises his hand, coaxing Yamada's face to turn towards him without touching it. Yamada's eyes are darker than his make up behind the blue contacts and Yuto feels like the black of his pupils burns him. His fingers want to curl, and his pinky brushes Yamada's warm skin, a little moist from sweating under the thick clothes and blazing spotlights. The pad of Yuto's ring finger grazes heavily sprayed, crunchy hair, and Yamada's gaze falls to Yuto's moving lips for a long, lingering moment, and Yuto hopes. His free hand finds a thin hoodie string and he wants to twirl it around his fingers.

Then there's a beat of the song and choreography rips the tension between them to shreds, both of them turning to face forward before moving apart. Yuto's smiling because it's the only outlet for the way his skin crawls so much he wants to scratch it open.

He gets through the remaining long seconds of choreography in this shot without dying, wetting his lips as the director calls cut and draws a deep, shaky breath. He thinks that it wasn't so bad, maybe. Almost like doing it hooded and with a mask on. Yamada didn't even bring his head in closer like he did a couple times when they were covered up.

Except this time Yamada's lips are so fucking close he wants to grasp a chunk full of that crunchy hair, fist the soft hoodie collar and kiss him so hard he'd lose his breath. He wants Yamada's make up to smear onto his face, sprayed colour on his hands and Yamada's cologne clinging to his skin.

But he should be able to do this another 18 or so times today. No problem.

* * *

Yuto stubs his cigarette and aggressively lights a new one, the scene playing itself over and over in his head like a video put on loop, interrupted with older images, all the times Yuto wanted to kiss Yamada but couldn't. Wasn't allowed.

Yuto's a good actor, even though he hasn't got any fancy awards to prove it, and he's held himself together in worse situations than today. But he had to do something, played along when they teased about the “kiss scene”, and he shouldn't have. Shouldn't have teased about how close they were now, how they might accidentally kiss in a performance. Because Yamada simply saying “no we won't” was what put him right where he is now. Those words and the single warning look he got after the cameras were off.

Yamada knows. Yamada knows because Yuto told him, wasted on tequila one of the first times he was allowed to legally drink. Told him that there was only him, that Yuto wanted to be his everything, would do anything for him. And Yamada told him no. Wetting his lips and averting his eyes, setting his glass down.

“I don't feel that way about you. I'm sorry. But I don't think I ever will.”

It's the last thing Yuto remembers from that night, it's all just blank until he woke up the morning after at Keito's place feeling terrible in more ways than the hungover could produce.

But Yamada kindly pretended it never happened, so Yuto never spoke of it again and never drank tequila since.

He drinks other things now. Drinks to forget being unable to stop loving someone who will never love him back.

He inhales more smoke than he should, holding it in until he feels like he's suffocating, and then ends up coughing it out. His head hurts and he shouldn't add asphyxiation to his list of self harm, but he just needs to think of something else than the rejection in his heart that's eating him up from the inside. It feels like there are tiny insects crawling inside his body, itching and tickling and making him want to stand up and run, scratch at his skin, throw up and cry. Anything to get the feeling out of his system.

He pours himself more rum, trying to get Yamada's warning look out of his head as much as he tries to get rid of the inviting ones. Sometimes Yamada encourages him, just a little, smiles into fanservice, touches him, interacts with him in a friendlier way that usual. But it's only in front of a camera, an audience, and Yuto knows that it is. Knows so well because Yamada would never look at him like that in private, shies away from being alone with him as well as he can.

Sometimes Yuto hates Chinen for so casually hanging out with Yamada. For getting a choreography part in Fantastic Time where he was an inch from Yamada's face and Yamada said no we're not too close, that's okay. Because Yamada's not afraid of Chinen like he is of Yuto.

Maybe they should talk about it. It could help. But Yuto can't bring it up, can't hear a rejection again, and Yamada won't do it because he doesn't want to turn Yuto down again. Nothing's changed no matter how much Yuto wants to believe it has or maybe will tomorrow, or next year, or in ten years. In ten years Yamada's probably married with children, and Yuto will hate his wife so much he'd rather stab himself in the stomach than congratulate her on giving birth to Yamada's child. The whole idea disgusts him so much he stubs the cigarette and he hides his face in his hands, scrunching up his own hair until the urge to throw something across the room subsides. Thinks about that it won't happen for a long time, that there's a contract and Yamada will ruin them if he decided to get married soon. He's not even seeing anyone right now, thank fucking god.

He takes a couple of deep breaths, slowly releasing his own hair and reaches for the glass instead, swallowing half of it in one go, and he's so eager that some spills down the corner of his mouth. He quickly sets the glass down and wipes away the sticky substance with his sleeve, leaning back in the couch with an audible groan.

If only things could be different. He could make Yamada so happy. He would make him feel so good, so appreciated and beautiful. Would make sure Yamada never had to do anything but lie in bed and moan Yuto's name.

The room rotates slowly before Yuto's eyes, and so he closes them, letting his head fall back against the backrest and allows a much worse scene to play on his closed eyelids.

* * *

Yamada gasps as Yuto pushes him back against the wall, dropping the hoodie he was just taking off to the floor. Yuto kicks it aside as he steps closer to Yamada, setting his hands against the cold concrete on either side of his head. Caging him but not touching him.

Yamada looks up at him with wide eyes and parted lips, the make up still caked on his face and his hair, stiff with products, is still styled to hang into his eyes where the blue contacts make him look more dangerous than innocent.

He tilts his head a couple millimeters in questions, a tiny flash of his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he looks up at Yuto.

“Yuto...?” he asks, voice light and breathy, all question and anticipation, his voice sounding so delicious speaking Yuto's name like that.

He looks at Yuto's lips, then at the arm on one side of him, then back at Yuto's eyes.

Yuto doesn't reply, only feels the sunshine spreading on his skin wherever Yamada rests his eyes, his lips tingling so much he has to do something about it.

He leans in, shifting his weight and bending his arm to support it as he brings his other hand up close to Yamada's face, just like in the choreography.

Yamada doesn't move his head but glances at Yuto's hand out of the corner of his eyes before locking his gaze to Yuto's instead. Yuto looks back, unable to read anything from his mind and it's terrifying.

His hand is shaking as he finally brings his hand closer to touch Yamada's smooth skin, his fingers stilling against the warmth, fingertips slipping between a couple rough strands of hair. Yamada sighs before his eyes flutter closed and he leans into the touch.

Yuto kisses the sigh right off his lips, his hand properly cupping Yamada's face to tilt it into the kiss as he presses closer, forcing Yamada flush against the wall.

Yamada moans into the kiss, arms coming up to wrap around Yuto's neck a little uncoordinated, and Yuto desperately licks at Yamada's plush lips because he needs _more_.

Yamada tries to keep up with Yuto's aggression but doesn't really manage, a whiny noise escaping him as he parts his lips and Yuto thrusts his tongue inside his mouth, finally, _finally_ tasting him for himself.

Yuto's hips grind into Yamada's with such force that Yamada stumbles, the hands behind Yuto's neck scrambling for purchase on his back, and it feels like Yamada scratches him. It's nothing like how Yuto imagined it, fantasized about it a million times, but he can't seem to stop, doesn't have time for romance or gentle touches because he needs this so bad.

The kiss breaks and they both gasp for breath, Yamada's head falling to the side as his chest heaves, and Yuto attacks his neck as it's displayed before him.

He tastes hairspray and sweat and it's so intoxicating, so flawless, and there's teeth and tongue before he even knows what he's doing.

And then it happens. Yamada's hands shift, moving to his shoulders and shoving him back, strong enough to make Yuto stumble, catching himself against a the corner of a locker.

“Oh my god, get off me,” Yamada says, voice low and cheeks pink and his eyes refusing to meet Yuto's, a hand rising to his neck and rubbing like he's trying to get rid of Yuto's touch.

Yuto wants to beg him not to do this, not to make him stop, but his raging erection in his pants and his heart shattering in his chest brings him so close to tears it makes him unable to speak.

Yamada pushes past him without looking, grabbing his bag and jacket and hurrying out of the dressing room.

* * *

Yuto groans, sitting straight up in the couch and rubs at his eyes like that would make it go away. He feels disorientated, opening his eyes quickly as he starts to feel nauseous, and it takes a long moment before his vision returns after pressing so hard on his eyeballs. He also realizes there are tears when his palms feel wet as he withdraws them.

The rejection keeps facing him everywhere, and he knows deep down that no matter how drunk he gets, he will always know it's there. He wants something to liberate him from it, leave him in blissful ignorance of the harsh reality. Wants to live in a world where rejection doesn't exist. He'd even take a world where Yamada doesn't exist.

He sobs as he leans forward to try and stabilize his blood pressure, and he groans as the heavy material of his jeans rubs against the throbbing bulge in his pants. He's clearly not drunk enough if his dick still works, he thinks, and he debates for a moment if he should drink more and hope it goes away.

But then he groans, out of pure self loathing, and leans back in the couch again, closing his eyes as he brings both hands to his belt buckle.

His erection twitches even before he chooses a fantasy, the light touch of his fumbling hands as he gets the belt buckle open enough to tease. His hips flex up as he hears the sliding sound of his belt being opened, the metallic clinking as the belt buckle falls aside. He runs a long finger along his zipper, the press on his erection making him shudder.

He flicks the button open and undoes the zipper, the sound filthy as he imagines doing it to someone else.

* * *

He's on his knees in front of Yamada, sucking his hard dick all the way down his throat and swallowing around it while looking up. Watching Yamada's dark eyelashes flutter against flushed cheeks, his even darker eyes fixed on Yuto with a doting look. Lips red and parted, bare chest heaving with breaths.

“Oh my god, Yuto,” he moans, a breathy sound, short fingers scrunching up Yuto's hair. “So good.”

Yuto moans around Yamada's erection at the pull at his hair, slipping another finger inside Yamada's clenching hole where he's already two fingers inside. He's so tight, so hot, so willing. His thighs are shaking and Yuto lets Yamada's cock slip from his mouth with an obscene pop, watching it bounce back towards Yamada's stomach and leaving a wet, shining spot on his skin.

“Nghn,” Yamada gets out, clearly about to say something but Yuto's fingers curl inside him, pressing right against his prostate and his head falls back against the wall and he nearly rips Yuto's hair out.

Yuto blows air onto his twitching erection, making him shudder, and Yuto can't keep himself from leaning in to lick along a protruding vein supplying Yamada's pleasure.

“You're so beautiful. So fucking beautiful,” Yuto mumbles against Yamada's cock, rubbing his lips along it, slipping his tongue out here and there and Yamada groans so brokenly that Yuto smiles against the moist skin.

“Yuto please,” Yamada moans, hips bucking forward as Yuto teases against his prostate again, Yamada's cock smacking his nose but he doesn't mind. Wouldn't mind if Yamada came all over his face just like this, before Yuto's even put his dick inside him.

“Mmm,” Yuto hums in response, nuzzling Yamada's erection for another moment just because he can, then slowly withdraws his fingers from Yamada's hole one at a time.

“Please,” it's more desperate this time, more breath and less voice, and Yuto loves it. Loves him.

“Don't worry darling,” he promises, rising despite his stiff knees from being on the floor for so long, his sticky hand grasping onto Yamada's hip as he covers his body with his own. “I'll make you feel so good.”

Yamada makes a soft noise, a noise that says Yuto's words comforted him, and his arms wraps around Yuto's neck as Yuto leans in to kiss him.

He grabs Yamada's shaking thighs, using all his strength to hoist him up, lock those legs around his waist instead and pushes Yamada up against the wall. He guides his cock to Yamada's clenching entrance waiting for it, and starts to push inside, holding on to Yamada for dear life.

He feels so good, so tight and yet he so easily takes Yuto's cock, moaning helplessly into their sloppy kiss. His fingers curl against Yuto's bare skin, then un-curls again, like he can't decide what to do, and Yuto keeps pushing slowly but steadily until he's as deep inside him as he can go.

He starts a rhythm, carefully pulling out a little, and pushes in, Yamada's entire body moving with his thrust and it makes him feel so powerful.

Yamada groans, gasps, moans his name, wet sounds in Yuto's hair, against his temple, his ear, fingernails scratching his back as Yuto speeds up, fucking Yamada into the wall.

Yamada's head falls back against the wall with a dull noise, and Yuto's mouth latches onto his neck, sucking and biting without qualms, slowing down his thrusts a little as he purposely spreads Yamada's ass cheeks a little more just to make sure he feels every inch of Yuto's cock moving inside him.

“Fuck, fuck, hng, fuck...” Yamada chants in between gasps for breath, his thighs slipping with sweat against Yuto's waist, and Yuto aims right for his prostate with purpose.

Yamada's whole body tenses up and he actually screams as he comes untouched, spurting cum over his own stomach and Yuto's, a couple hot drops hitting the underside of Yuto's chin, and Yuto feels a shiver rip through his entire body as he comes too.

* * *

Yuto draws a shaky, shameful breath as he slowly withdraws his messy hand from his pants, his breathing cooling down in time with the temperature of his cum. He doesn't want to open his eyes, doesn't want to face the reality where there's no Yamada and he's just a pathetic, disgusting loser fantasizing about fucking the brains out of him.

His pants feel gross, but he feels like he doesn't deserve to change them. Deserves to sit here in his filth and misery and think about what he did.

He feels the heat starting to seep through his closed eyeslids, and he squeezes his eyes closed tighter to try and stop it. But it doesn't work.

He opens his eyes, staring at his blurry ceiling and wondering where his life went so wrong.

It takes a long while, too long, but then he slowly sips up properly, and reaches for the pack of cigarettes after wiping his messy hand on his jeans. He's still sticky but he doesn't care, smelling cum as he puts the cigarette to his lips and inhales.

He doesn't care what touches his lips. He only wants one thing, and there's no getting it.

Because no matter what he dreams of, imagines or convinces himself is true, deep down he knows that he will never kiss Yamada Ryosuke for real.


End file.
